


White Wolves

by thrazesul



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Monsters, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrazesul/pseuds/thrazesul
Summary: A cursed werewolf ends up the curiosity of Geralt





	1. 1

To anyone else, the night was just that; an ordinary clear night with the stars dancing in the sky above, like they always did. To the child running for their life in the woods, it was a nightmarish hell they had found themselves in. With their patched together boots sinking into the mud each step they took, their attempt at fleeing from the beast that hunted them were growing weaker and weaker by the minute. A small heart thudded endlessly in the child's chest, praying against all that someone would come save them. Their parents, a stranger, a knight in shining armor. Anyone would have done.

Varga had heard the child's cry for help, as she spent more time in the woods than anywhere else. Not to aid a village in the art of hunting but simply to avoid humans altogether. What a child was doing this far out were beyond her, but she couldn't leave them to their fate. Something large and vicious were chasing them, a smell she recognized all too well. Only this one was coarser and more… wild than her own.

Her own werewolf curse had locked her into a different set of life than that of a normal werewolf's. Unlike them, she could control herself, except during the full moon's first silver rays. It was a dreadful time, spending each full moon, wondering what she'd wake up to next after her fit of frenzy. To the body of a woman? A child?

It was why she skulked out here too. To not endanger others. Opposite rather. The large village nearby had already started the rumors of the white werewolf that helped them. In turn, the rumors had continued and Varga's influence had reached several villages by now. Like a wolf, she traveled far for the simplest things, able to keep running for hours at an end.

Rumour's that attract the attention of witch hunters, that she had no choice but to defend herself against. Very few of them listened to her and her reasoning. A great many humans reacted with fear and disgust if they ever glimpsed her true form and she couldn't blame them.

This night, she had little choice. The child would have to endure the large wolf hybrid because it was the only thing that stood against them as they fell to the ground with the brown werewolf charging at them from the woods.

Varga leaped out first, right in front of the attacking werewolf; her paws placed carefully over the child, protecting them with her own body. At least the other werewolf went to an abrupt halt at the sudden sight of another werewolf, snarling in anger and surprise.

Thinking about her own options, she realized she didn't have many. Per usual. She was no witcher, who protected people from  **monsters**. She was one herself and ending another's life with the same curse as herself felt wrong. But it wouldn't be the first time. The child would die if she didn't act… and sending the werewolf off somewhere else would just end up with someone else dying.

Sometimes she was lucky and the other beast made the choice for her by attacking first, like this one did. Lunging for her throat, the werewolf missed just barely, on top of that, almost stepping right onto the child. Screaming, the human cowered on the ground, as Varga grabbed the other's neck and threw it further off, allowing herself to step over the child.

With the space free, she continued forward at the same time as the other werewolf; both colliding with their front paws, claws ripping at each others' furs. The wild one's teeth found their mark over Varga's upper arm, biting down hard until Varga managed to slash her claws over its nose. Ripping hard, it pulled back with a painful howl before her other claws hit it across its chest.

Forcing the werewolf backward, Varga continued to slash towards it until it was on its back in which she jumped forward and dug her teeth into its neck. In desperation, it gripped her shoulders; claws digging into flesh as it started to cough up blood from the pressure and wound in its throat. Ignoring the stinging pain, Varga pressed harder, until no more sound or struggle escaped the other werewolf.

Once she was certain life had escaped it, she dropped the body onto the ground with no further care and stood up on her hind legs, looking back at the child. They were still huddled up in the mud, staring wide-eyed with their hands over their head.

Varga had been through this several times, never knowing their reaction, she approached slowly, with her paws out in an as non-threatening display as she could pull off.

"Shh, it's alright now. I'm not going to hurt you." She spoke with some difficulty; hoarse sounding and stiff, as the anatomy of the werewolf made it difficult. The blood on her white fur surely wouldn't help her case here, as the child, a boy, stared at her terrified.

"You need to head back home at once. It's not safe out here."

"You… you're not gonna eat me?"

Varga couldn't stop the half smile that appeared on her face.

"No. I don't eat humans. I'm a  _nice_  werewolf, see?"

"Daddy says there are no nice werewolves."

Varga had no real answer to that, so far she had been the only werewolf who was in control it seemed. To say otherwise would be potentially hurting the child even more.

"We're rare," she replied shortly instead. "Most are like that one," she continued, pointing towards the dead werewolf. An unfair judgment but it'd do for now. "It's why you need to go home."

"I can't. I'm scared. I want daddy!"

The werewolf let out a low frustrated grunt, but as the child stood up himself, she gave him a puzzled look. There was no real fear right now, only a kind of shyness she couldn't place. A child's innocence and naivete didn't seem to falter much even after a chase such as the one he had just endured.

"You're nice," he said, looking up at her as he hugged himself. "You're like the village's dog! She barked at a bandit once and he ran so fast!"

The white werewolf tilted her head to the side with an amused look on her face.

"If you're with me… nothing will dare touch me!"

"You want me to walk you to the village?" The boy nodded but Varga looked uncertain still, glancing at the direction where she knew the nearest village was.

"You're a strange one. Very brave," she noted. "But I can only take you a bit of the way. I don't want to scare anyone." Landing back on all four, she reached just at the boy's head, trying to look less intimidating. He seemed delighted at the idea of safety at least, even if that came at a werewolf's company and while Varga questioned the boy's sanity, she figured it was better than leaving him alone out here. More things than just werewolves roamed out here.

They walked mostly in silence, only interrupted by the boy's stumbling. When he fell to the ground, Varga suggested he'd get up on her back and save himself the walk. It was obvious the child was tired and had gone through quite an ordeal. The suggestion was accepted and they continued through the darkness, an odd duo of a vicious beast and a human child.

Varga had no idea how much time had passed when they reached the edges of the village and thankfully no soul was found outside now either. The night had started to slowly leave way to morning and she wished to return to the woods quickly before she was discovered.

White werewolf or not, most didn't trust her despite that.

"We're here," she said, letting the child slide off her back and onto the soft grass. "Go find your parents. Tell them what you wish, but I'm sure they'll want to know the other werewolf is dead."

She used the back of her paw to nudge the boy forward, though he didn't need much incentive to run into the village. Halfway there, he stopped to offer a final wave to her.

Varga turned when she felt something, something that made the hair on her neck prickle. A foul smell traveled through the air, along with the rustle of swords and a horse. A distinct combination of sounds that she had long learned to fear.

The glimmer of silver edged into her mind like tendrils and she crouched quickly to the ground; green eyes fixed on the direction of the sound.

There was no missing the white-haired man that led his horse on the dirt paths between the buildings. Even so, the two swords on his back, one of silver, made it awfully clear what he was and Varga had no interest in becoming closely acquainted with a Witcher.

It was time to move to a new area. This one had become very unhealthy.

She turned fully, skulking back into the shadows of the trees, missing that the Witcher approached the house where the boy stood, wrapped in his parents' arms.

* * *

Stretching her back against the tree, the werewolf stared up at the full moon; silver rays reflecting in her green eyes. The object in the sky used to be a beautiful sight, a guide in the darkest nights. Then it became a nightmare, a message of death and chaos. The first year she learned to hate the light it threw on her body; twisting it into the body of a beast.

Now, at best, she felt apathetic. It was just a blob in the sky who told her when it was time to run and never stop. To satisfy the monster she was and was unable to kill herself. Varga could call her curse great many things but it had one hell of a survival instinct; not only twisting her body but also her mind, to want to survive… despite the madness.

It had only been a day since she had rescued the little boy from the other werewolf and the forest had been silent since then. The second night of the full moon had only resulted in a dead deer from Varga's end; a death she could live with. A death that had allowed the injured tissue of her flesh to fully heal.

A flexible paw stretched to her throat, scratching the long fur that covered it when she suddenly froze; nostrils flaring and ears turning back towards the sound behind her. No longer was her stance relaxed; every muscle in her body had tensed up, as she slowly put her front paws on the tree she was leaning against. Claws pressing into the firm bark, she drew a deep breath. She should have run further.

The scent of silver, steel and that dreaded oil had returned, closer this time and now she had very few options to act out. She should have figured the boy would have told his parents about the werewolf in the woods and the judging fools they were, they hadn't stopped to ponder the child's words. She hadn't done him anything, only saved his life.

Would nothing she did ever be good enough to these people? To give them a reason  _to not_  call one of the blasted witchers onto her back?

Varga leaped off the tree suddenly; turning mid-air to land on her hind legs a good distance away. Hunched together with her claws and teeth bared, only heaving heavy breaths in tension.

Glimmering eyes from the shadows behind the tree watched her intently; the gleam of silver and fiery runes appearing to their left. The sword slowly drawn, as if savoring the moment because she rather doubted the witcher would be  _hesitant_. She wasn't that vain to imagine she had given him pause just because she had noticed him before he could attack.

As he stepped out from the shadows and into the moonlight, her eyes narrowed as her already pretty clear suspicions were confirmed. The two swords, the white hair, and yellow eyes… the heavily prepared gear. How he even moved that silently in it was beyond her but it hadn't been quiet enough and he had lost his element of surprise.

For a few long moments, only the wind between them made any noise, until he swung his sword in his hand. As quickly as an eye blinked, he had pushed his right foot forward and altered his sword to come towards her in a low, sharp cut.

She had been prepared; jumping back to avoid the swing but she never countered. Still debating the options in her head and they were a few. Fight the witcher and risk her life, or simply run. Run far enough to where he could no longer track her. If her lack of action had surprised him, he made no show of it and he attacked again, pushing her back towards another tree.

For some stupid reason - and Varga hated her damn meek nature - she decided not to fight him but rather just delay him so she could make a run for it. Before he could launch a third attack, she glanced upwards at the heavy oak tree she had been forced in under. The glance alone served him an opportunity as he changed his stance but before he could charge forward, let alone raise the sword again, she jumped upwards. Grabbing onto the nearest branch that could carry her weight, she used the speed from it to kick him hard in the chest with her feet.

The blow could very well have broken a rib or two, it depended entirely on his armor. The main thing was that he had fallen to the ground, a distance off and wouldn't get up on his feet easily again. That was enough for her to turn and bolt, taking the lunge to land on all fours on the ground.

The stinging pain in her lower back ceased all movement next, causing her to let out a furious growl as she spun mid-run to see what had struck her. The pain was already turning worse, the fur and skin at the arrow sitting there sizzling enough to fill the air with a foul scent of burned flesh. Only silver could have that effect on her and she clenched her paws onto the ground, still moving backward the best she could; away from the witcher.

Pushing up onto her hind legs, she allowed herself a quick look at the arrow, before pressing her fingers around it and tugging it out from her back, discarding it to the side in a loud huff. It was far from a lethal blow, but it hurt like hell, fuelling the rage building up.

"I have done  _nothing_  to you!" she roared suddenly, swinging her fisted right hand to the side in frustration. "Just as I haven't done any harm to the people in the village. Why do your kind keep on persecuting me when there's so much other out there hurting people!"

She pulled in a ragged breath, placing her hand on her chest. The witcher was moving slowly towards her, the silver sword's runes gleaming and irritating her further. "You're certainly more talkative than the other werewolves I've encountered," he commented instead.

"My brain still works."

"For now. It's when it stops working that worries me."

She bared her teeth, knowing it didn't make her point any better, but like any human, fighting your body language when fuelled by emotions required training she didn't have.

"Even normal people can turn mad by rage or just… mad in the blink of an eye if things don't go their way. Why is my curse any different?"

He paused, eyeing her. Some long moments after he rested his sword in front of himself, lightly against the ground and his hands on its cross guard. "I wasn't sure I believed the rumors from the village. About a white lycanthrope who wasn't a mindless beast. You talk well and you move like more than just a beast."

Varga watched him intently, not sure he was bullshitting with her or not. She had seen werewolves that didn't move like beasts but acted like it all the time. Maiming and killing everything in their way. He sighed next, moving slowly to sheathe the sword across his back thought he had his every focus on her in case she decided to attack again.

"Morning's soon here. If yours is a regular curse you won't remember anything come morning. If you do…" he offered a light shrug. Varga merely snorted at that kind of argument, besides she knew she'd remember everything perfectly well.

"You shot me with a crossbow and now you're just going to what,  _stand there_?"

"And you kicked me."

Pressing her lips together, she fumed loudly at that argument. "You'll be disappointed if you think I won't recall anything," she pointed out, making a slow walk towards the nearest tree to sit down under it. He had turned half ways to follow her with his eyes but said nothing. If he wanted to waste his time, Varga figured it was his wish to do so. As things looked now, she had no choice but to hope for the best anyway. Running wasn't possible with the silver lining her blood and even if she turned human, the wound itself would take days to heal, even with her faster regeneration.

 

Varga’s eyes rarely left the witcher’s sight as the moon slowly moved across the sky. It seemed to take forever but the truth was, it was just an hour; maybe more till sunrise. His relaxed manner bothered her because it seemed he was meditating on the ground, his eyes closed. The wound from the silver arrow held her back from a full run, something he probably knew else he’d be keeping a better eye on her. Unless this was some kind of witcher trick.

Out of boredom, as well to test that theory, Varga stood up to stretch her limbs. As she had suspected his eyes shot open for a brief moment to check on her before he closed them again. His mediation, as light as it had been, had been disrupted though and she found some glee in that fact as shown by her upper lip baring her teeth into a thin smile. Grabbing her left arm, she moved across the clearing they were in, pausing only to stare at the fading moon.

When the sky’s horizon started to change colors, the witcher stood up; folding his arms across his chest as he gave her an expectant look. As if she could will the transformation already. She gave him an affronted look back, mimicking his stance. A temporary gesture because the approaching sun scared the moon’s last lights away and she staggered backward suddenly. Clutching at her chest; her breathing clenched shut for what’d be seconds but feel like forever as her inner organs rearranged themselves during the shapeshifting. Her heart beats pounded in her ears, blocking out every other sound; even her own growls of pain as ligaments and bone were pulled together to their original forms; muscles reknitting themselves along with them.

A shapeshift for her didn’t last long and as those moments faded, her hands traveled to her face; covering it as the last signs of the werewolf’s teeth disappeared. A perfectly human face remained with tough, strong features and pale skin covered in freckles. Despite her violent change in the body, her former armor stuck to her skin before as well as after the shapeshift; undamaged and seemingly appearing from thin air as the fur had fallen off her. Right now she was thankful for that little tidbit of the curse. Trying to remain serious in her claims of not being a savage beast would be difficult had she been naked.

Grimacing slightly in the pain from her back, she turned to face the witcher again; green eyes glaring under a frame of red hair.

“Lo and behold, I still very much remember all that happened, _master witcher_. So what do you plan to do about that now?” Varga gestured towards him with one hand, the other crossed over her chest. He still stood there, not having moved a muscle during it all, but his eyes held a certain skepticism to them.

“I plan to ask you questions,” he responded calmly. “Two things stand out the most at the moment. Your memory being intact and the fact your clothes shapeshift along with you. None of those things are typical of lycanthropes. But you still shapeshift during the full moon?” Varga continued to look at him at his question, not entirely sure whether to respond or just make a run for it. Why wasn’t he trying to kill her already? Why was he asking questions, did it even _matter_?

“I can change whenever I like. The full moon is the only time it… overcomes me whether I like it or not,” she begrudgingly answered. His attention darted back to her fully after having trailed off thoughtfully somewhere to the side.

“Almost full control then? Nothing I’ve heard about before.”

“If you don’t believe me I can prove it in a bit.”

“No need. The rest doesn’t add up as it is already,” he waved it off, almost impatiently. “Strange, you seem to have a specific curse laid out on you.”

“Undoubtedly. That still doesn’t answer the question of what you’ll do.” Her back stung, moving wouldn’t be as fluently as normal the next days and that put her at a serious disadvantage. Having this witcher lingering around was irksome when she just wanted to retreat to lick her wounds and find a new area to disappear into; this one had become way too dangerous for her taste.

His eyes narrowed slightly, making her tenser. A crazy idea came to mind, one born out of stubborn self-preservation, even though she knew she was considered nothing more than a monster to most.

“You witchers clear curses, don’t you? I can pay you to clear mine,” she said carefully. It wasn’t her intent, she doubted it could be cleared… but indirectly bribing him to lower his guard would be enough. Stave her off the executioner’s block just long enough to let her back heal so she could _run_. “I have a lot of gold, that won’t be an issue. You get paid and help someone out. Or am I wrong in that it’s not what your kind do?”

He was difficult to read, as he was just staring at her but she spotted the slight furrowing of his brow between his eyebrows. Maybe gold wasn’t enough. But she knew of other ways to get someone’s attention. Everyone had a weakness.

“Or perhaps I should ask another witcher for aid in that matter because as you said, it’s a very specific curse and… difficult I take it,” she continued airily, smirking slightly.

“I know what you’re doing and you can stop that. You’d be a fool to approach other witchers. Most would have killed you already when the arrow pierced your back.”

“Sheesh, dark,” Varga muttered, giving him an uneasy look. But she knew it to be the truth. Humans ran at the sight of her and while she hadn’t encountered a witcher this close before, there was a reason why she always ran away from even the rumors of them. Emotionless killers with no regard to anything that wasn’t human. That was what the stories told. “What makes you so special then?” she couldn’t help the question; if now all witchers were that damn cold, why wasn’t she dead.

“Because I can realize when it’s better to learn something than killing what’s new the moment it appears. Experience does that. And your curse is a new one to me. I’d be a fool to turn down that chance. Doesn’t mean I’ll manage though, not all curses _can_ be broken.”

“What then?”

“I don’t think you want the answer to that. But I do accept your… contract.”

“How courteous of you,” she sneered, mostly at his tone. It bothered her but then a lot of what he had done so far had bothered her. Silence fell between them and she frowned as he turned to gaze towards the village she had seen him in earlier. Grunting, he took one look at her before gesturing with his head for her to follow him as he started to make his way back to said village.

“Now I’ll assume they were the ones who sent you,” the werewolf pointed out, as she reluctantly followed. Now that she had gotten herself into this deal, she’d need to see it out fully… and hope it wouldn’t lead to her death. “So why are we going back there?”

“I was told to get rid of the werewolf. In a way, I have. Need the gold.”

Varga could understand the need for gold so she said nothing further to that, following as quickly as she could. With her aching back, it wasn’t the quickest pace but the witcher maintained a speed she could follow. Still hugging herself; anxious at this new situation she found herself in, she broke the silence quickly.

“If we’re stuck together for awhile I’d rather not call you witcher. Nor you calling me werewolf for that matter. So, I’m Varga.”

The witcher paused and faced her quickly over his shoulder, giving his reply before continuing again.

“Geralt of Rivia.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The walk was more arduous for Varga than she liked to admit, but then she was injured so perhaps she could give herself some slack. Geralt certainly wasn't, walking steadily through the undergrowth of the forest. Varga watched his back, how the sunlight reflected against the metal shine on his armour and sheathed swords before her eyes trailed to their surroundings. The forest looked so much less foreboding and deadly in the morning; the warm sun on her freckled skin, the green grass and throwing the nearby flowers into different shades of colours. Even as human, her senses were so much stronger than a regular human's, she could tell which tree had the bird singing in it and still smell the silver that Geralt wore. The latter made her scrunch up her nose, before brushing it off with her hand to try and get rid of the smell. Her hand returned to her side after that, touching the burned skin underneath the shirt. The actual arrow wound was gone by now but the skin would remain charred and stinging for another few days.

“Is there anything else I should know about this curse of yours?” Geralt asked suddenly, breaking the rather pleasant silence between them, looking over his shoulder at her briefly.

“Like what?” she replied, returning to hugging herself. The moment he had talked, the world around her had become more closed off again, its sounds falling on deaf ears as she had to focus on the conversation at hand.

“How it came to be, what triggers transformations, any other details you can think of,” he clarified.

“Hell if I know. One day I just transformed during a full moon and ever since then I've been on the run. It's just outside of the full moon that I can fully control it.”

“No enemies that you know of? I don't believe you were just selected on a whim. Curses like these are carefully picked.”

He could hear her scratch her neck, the increased breathing and pulse of her heart. Those signs usually meant a few things and usually not good either. In his time, he had become a near master of detecting nervousness among others. She was either building up to a lie or was scared about something. The witcher turned, his brow furrowed and he stopped, forcing her to stop as well since he had been walking in front of her.

“Well...” she hesitated.

“Spit it out,” he nearly demanded. Varga nervously rubbed her fingers against each other, gaze flickering away from him again. She found it really hard to hold a gaze with eyes like his; human and yet not, it was like staring into that of a _beast_ ’s and it wasn’t making her feel better about this whole idea at all.

“To be fair, I have some... memory issues around that time. I mean, when I was cursed. I was told that I was basically stuck as a werewolf for weeks and the month after that is blurry at best. As well as the month before. If I pissed someone off during that time...”

The woman shrugged again. She couldn’t know. This probably wouldn't work in her favour. A curse could be tricky on its own, but with no knowledge of the details? She realised there was nothing to go on here, and if she was unlucky, Geralt would decide here and now that it was better to just rid the world of another monster.

His silence certainly didn't help and when he did finally break it, it was just with a small grunt, as he scanned the horizon.

“You said you were _told_ ,” he realised after awhile.

“Ah, yeah, I did... didn't I,” she cleared her throat, fingers tapping against each other. _Shit_. “Someone helped me get my bearings after the curse struck. An old friend.”

“If they're an old friend, they might know something useful then. Especially if they were around at the time of the curse. Unless they were the _cause_ of it...” Geralt brought his hand to his chin, scratching his beard thoughtfully. He looked back at Varga, lowering his hand.

“Seeing your friend should be our first step,” he nodded.

“I... I can't bring you to him.” She straightened her back defiantly. When the witcher didn't question her, but rather just stared, she continued. “I doubt he has anything useful to tell you anyway.” That was probably a lie, Varga didn’t know that, and she hadn’t really asked her friend about the details either since she could still recall her life before that.

“Let me be the judge of that. Is he a werewolf too?”

“What? No.”

“Then what's the problem?”

She tapped her fingers against her mouth, finding it difficult to just stand around and be interrogated like this. With a few steps she had caught up to Geralt, passing him while turning to walk backwards another few steps; her eyes on him the entire time as she stopped again when he didn't move.

“He's very eccentric and... might actually kill you. He doesn't trust witchers -” she said, muttering an aside to herself that Geralt still picked up. “- which is ironic since he has a witcher acquaintance but still, they worked hard on that friendship.”

“He's welcome to try but since we need him, I got no interest in killing him,” the witcher assured her but she just laughed, the nervousness still hanging around even in the supposed mirth.

“He'd try _and_ succeed, Geralt,” she shook her head, looking very certain about it but Geralt didn't seem impressed. Varga looked off to the side, biting her lip under the cover of her hand as she pondered the risks. She had suggested the idea now though, so might as well follow through. Not because she trusted Geralt's intentions but because she trusted her friend's strength.

“If you insist. We'll find him... either inside or outside of Novigrad,” she said, lifting her hand as if to point towards the city before interrupting herself, looking around. “I've not the faintest idea where that is at the moment.”

Geralt let out a bemused scoff, walking past her again, towards the village. This time she kept up though, walking beside him at a respectable distance.

“If this friend of yours knows what happened during your memory gap,” he continued, asking not only for the sake of the contract but also pure curiosity. “You never asked him about it?”

“No, I left in a hurry. I wanted to go far away from everything at the time,” the woman sighed, kicking at a tuft of grass as they walked. “People were after my skin because I had... done some bad things while shapeshifted and I didn’t want to involve him. Besides, I assumed I had just been bitten by a werewolf and couldn’t do anything about it anyway.”

“And yet now you think you’re cursed?”

“I’ve compared to other stories about werewolves. Even talked to one who quickly became... hostile. They had less details to theirs than I do. It just seemed... off. Still though, where to even start? So I let it be.” She couldn’t explain why though. Perhaps she had just given up, determined to live out her new lot in life? For all she knew it could be a part of her curse. To just ignore what had happened? Too many dangerous questions for her taste.

“Now with you here, maybe I can get some answers?” she grinned. If her reasoning made sense or not, Geralt didn’t show it.

“Perhaps... Novigrad's a good way off anyway, a week's riding at least, so your answers will have to wait a bit,” he explained. She was lucky he had no planned destination in mind, else this would become a very long detour but then... he could need a bath and have his swords and armour adjusted while there. “You got anything you need to pick up before we leave here?” he asked.

“I got my bag hidden in a tree on the other side of the village. Should be a quick fetch.”

“That's all? Suppose you don't have a horse in that bag then...” he muttered. She had no horse, despite that most people 'on the run' had one in order to escape quickly from whatever they were running from. He wasn't going to question why she had hidden a bag in a tree, rather than carrying it with her. Plenty of people hid items everywhere, on more than one occasion he had stumbled over someone's lost treasures in logs of all places.

“I don't need a horse,” she proudly claimed, though said pride took a blow once they laid eyes on the village. She shrunk together a bit, growing wary again.

“If you're referring to your other form, you can't exactly run all the way to Novigrad like that,” the witcher frowned sternly. “It's a very bad idea that'll invite trouble.”

“What do you expect me to do? _Walk_ there?”

“It'd be fun, I'm sure but no, we'll have to buy a horse. You said you had crowns, yeah?”

“I do but I was going to pay _you_ with those.”

Geralt realised that himself now but ended up shrugging instead, brushing aside a few branches from the bushes that marked the edge of the forest. The payment wasn't important at the moment, since he wasn't even sure her curse could be lifted at all. A horse was more important now.

“Horse first,” he told her. She merely nodded, her focus mostly on them approaching the village. A few of the villagers had spotted them already, curiously eyeing them both. Something Varga didn't much enjoy, having been alone for so long she had grown fond or perhaps just gotten used to the solitude. Now it just felt like everyone there knew what she actually was. She swallowed deeply, realising Geralt could just easily spill the truth right there and let the villagers decide her fate... they'd end up dead most likely but then so would she to the witcher's blade since she couldn't run from him again. Subconsciously, she had already taken a step further away from him.

She was getting incredibly tired of the thought of distrust popping up so often now.

“You can breathe easily,” Geralt told the small crowd, for a moment Varga thought he had addressed her inner thinking, shooting him an alarmed look. “The werewolf's dead and shouldn't bother you anymore.” A few sighs of relief were heard, Varga among them actually, but then a few settled their gaze on her.

“Who's she?” one asked. “She's not of the village.” Before Varga could answer, Geralt did it for her.

“A wanderer the werewolf would have killed. I'll bring her back to her home, don't worry.” Geralt scanned the faces for any protests; every village was a wild card. Some accepted things easily, others demanded proof and some simply preferred to kill him rather than pay his due. They were lucky this village was the former. The man who had first ordered the kill stepped forward and dropped a coin pouch in the palm of Geralt's hand. A small boy clung to his leg, looking between him and Varga before he tugged at his father's belt.

“But the werewolf saved me,” he frowned, looking genuinely upset now that the adults had arranged for its death.

“What have I told you about making things up, boy,” his father commanded, silencing the boy and Varga held back a sigh. No, her actions didn't really matter, people would still judge her for what she was, not what she _did_. Winning the heart of one child wouldn't help her in the long run... but it'd make her feel better at least. If she ever became as nonchalant to just ignore when an innocent was about to be killed, well, perhaps it was simply time for the chopping block then... or a witcher’s sword.

“Thank you, witcher,” the man nodded once to Geralt before leaving, the villagers following and Varga stuck out her tongue after the village leader. Geralt let out an exasperated sigh.

“Stop that.”

“Idiot should listen to his child. If it wasn't for me, the boy would be dead by now,” she frowned back. “But a helpful werewolf is too hard to believe, I guess.”

“They're not common. I've only met one before you and I've been around for awhile. As in fact, it does sound like a story a lost child would conjure up.” He could see her frustration, he too knew how it was like to be judged. Granted, the majority of witchers didn't kill humans, unlike werewolves.

“What if they go into the forest to... verify your kill?” Varga asked instead, still looking irked as she took the lead to go find her bag. Geralt followed, after having shot a glance back towards the forest.

“Unless they have the tracking skills of a witcher, I doubt they'll find the right spot. Even so, we're long gone by then. Now where's that tree of yours?”

Varga kept walking, pointing ahead. Crossing the village took no time at all and the clutch of trees between that and the road were a bunch of old, thick trees. Geralt studied the crossroads sign next to them, as Varga scaled the largest tree to fetch her bag. Once she was back on the ground after a graceful landing, she opened the worn looking bag. Once she was content everything in it was still there, she looked back at Geralt before speaking, giving the village another look.

“I don't think anyone in the village sells any horses.”

“They don't but the village nearby does. We'll just use Roach for now,” he replied, gesturing for her to stay as he went to fetch the mare who was grazing peacefully in the village's centre.

“Roach?” she muttered as he left. She was quick to scratch the horse's head with a smile when he returned. “Who on earth names their horse _Roach_ ,” she chuckled sightly confused... and offended on the horse's behalf. Despite her werewolf nature, Roach either didn't sense it or cared about it because she didn't mind the attention. The witcher on her back had to hold back an eyeroll at Varga's words though.

“I do. Now, get up. The faster we get you a horse, the faster we can be on our way,” he said, offering Varga his hand. Roach could handle the extra weight with the short distance they had to go, but all the way to Novigrad? Not a chance. Varga gave the mare a knowing look; she could only imagine what the horse had to put up with. Especially when given a name like _that_. She accepted Geralt's hand, sitting up behind him on the horse. With one hand on his shoulder, she used her free one to rummage around in the bag in her lap when she felt him urge the horse forward.

“I have just enough for a horse. I think anyway,” she muttered. “I mean, I could just... you know, _free_ a horse from someone undeserving of it?” she suggested in a quiet aside.

“You mean _stealing_ it?”

“I said _free_ it. There's a lot of people out there that shouldn't have horses. Or animals for that matter. Dumb people with animals they mistreat and have more coin than they deserve.” Geralt let out a grunt; dealing with humans and monsters was enough for him, he wasn't going to add animal cruelty on the list of his priorities. He was accustomed to thieves as well, hell, he had accepted help from the folks of the underground plenty already.

“So you're a thief,” he confirmed. For a moment the only sound around them was the slow trotting of Roach until Varga spoke up again, sounding terse.

“Well, what else am I suppose to do? I can't exactly work, or be around people for too long,” she made a face at the latter even though Geralt couldn't see her. “Is this an issue?”

Dumb question, she realised, most people didn't care much for thieves. Or werewolves. Especially women being a bit of both.

“Only if you end up caught and dragging me with you,” the witcher shrugged, not yet ready to admit his own association with the underground. She didn't need to hear it. “Don't overstep your game and keep your fingers out of my saddlebags and we'll be just fine.”

“Sounds fair,” she nodded but inwardly she had to hold back utter surprise at his words. Not only did he not slay every monster he came across, he was also reasonable when it came to the... more delicate professions. Had she misunderstood witchers all along? Or had she just been lucky in being targeted by a sensible one? Resting her hands over her bag now, she settled to listen to the drumming sound that Roach's hooves made on the dirt, enjoying the scenery around them. Occasionally stealing a glance towards the saddlebags because now she was curious.

Luckily, the next village wasn't far off. After just an hour - spent in complete silence - Varga could glimpse the small town in the near distance. Already from here she could tell it was certainly bigger than the last, and exactly the kind of settlements she preferred to avoid. A sense of dread settled in her and she pulled up the green scarf around her neck, shaping it to a hood over her head. For the last three years, she had rarely entered bigger villages or cities, because she felt like everyone _knew_ what she was. While no one gave a her a second glance, except the occasional interested male, it still felt like everyone else were always staring at her, whispering and planning. Such awful sensations were also prone to make her more nervous and easier for her to become emotionally distraught. Something that always triggered a transformation.

Of course Geralt couldn't care less where he was; it was all the same to him after all. In this case Varga was lucky because most eyes landed on the witcher, curious as to his presence, some hopeful that he'd fix their monster problems and others worried that he'd kidnap their children. As he brought them to the local stables, he quickly noticed Varga's hood and her glance flickering over their surroundings. Perhaps the most obvious was the fact she was currently biting on one of her nails. At least he didn’t need any of his enhanced senses to pick up what was wrong this time.

“Nervous?” he asked, his own gaze searching around them in case she had spotted something dangerous. Not that much lurked in the village in broad daylight, even thugs and robbers would think twice before attacking anyone here. Varga delayed in giving him a look, her focus otherwise on some men who passed them by, busy with their own discussions and didn’t pay any heed even to the witcher.

“I’m always nervous in places like these,” she said coldly, pulling the hood closer. “Been a while since I was in such a... crowded place,” she added with clear distaste in her voice. Geralt arched an eyebrow, tying Roach’s reins to the fence surrounding the stables.

“Not a fan of people?” he smirked actually; it wouldn’t surprise him. Her earlier words showed she had some scorn with people who didn’t accept her for being a werewolf. As a witcher, he never expected anything less but distain from others.

“Actually, with your question about what else to know about... my curse,” the woman continued, edging closer to him as she lowered her voice. “People tend to piss me off and then, usually before I know it, I tower over them and have scattered a whole square of people.” She took a step back again, making a face. “Better that than scattering _people_ all over the square, I guess...”

Geralt rubbed his lower face, not terribly fond of that news.

“That you have survived at all is beyond me,” he admitted. “Considering how easy it is to find irritating people. Especially in Novigrad. Which we’re headed to.”

“Well, if we’re lucky, my friend will be at his hideout _outside_ the city.”

“It’s never _that_ easy.”

 


End file.
